The morning sun peers through the window of my expansive bedroom, waking me up. I let out a lengthy yawn, exhausted from an evening of driving. It took over five hours for us to reach the Las Vegas strip. I drove my truck all the way there with Naomi talking my ear off while my parents drove in a glossy red Dodge Charger. Needless to say, my dad enjoyed speeding up to the lobby of Caesars Palace in his stylish new ride. By the time we checked into our three-bedroom penthouse suite, I could barely make it to the bed before drifting to sleep. I even neglected to shut the curtains, too enamored by the velvety satin sheets.

Naomi's voice singsongs downstairs, my parents silently nodding along. The reminder of Naomi's presence just steps down from me leaves a striking stain on this entire trip. I couldn't wait to explore the Las Vegas Strip, eat experimental dishes from fancy restaurants, and see spectacular acrobatic stunts at Cirque du Soleil. Best of all, my parents surprised me by scoring tickets to Lady Gaga's Enigma residency, a last-minute surprise. Now that Naomi is here, she'll probably drag me to the ritzy flagship stores and boutiques and my parents will end up exploring the Las Vegas Strip without me. Except I refuse to miss out on seeing Lady Gaga live. For years I've wanted to see my idol in concert, and I wouldn't give this opportunity up for anything, especially since it's near impossible to score tickets. My parents and I are going without Naomi. I about lost my shit when she told me she wasn't a fan of Lady Gaga's music.

I only have myself to blame. Although I didn't invite Naomi to come with us to Las Vegas, I gave my parents the impression I'd enjoy spending a weeklong vacation with her. After all, we are in a "relationship" and, any happy couple would love exploring the glitzy scene of Las Vegas together. I can't even imagine how magical this trip would be if Paris was accompanying me. He would adore trying funky food on the strip and be overjoyed to see Lady Gaga. We'd wear matching Lady Gaga merch and sing along to every song. It'd be a dream come true.

Before I can dream any longer, the sound of footsteps alerts me to Naomi's tall frame in the doorway. She looks flashy in a skin-tight low-cut indigo dress and heels. It's only 10 AM and Naomi appears to be dressed up for a midnight after-party.

"Hey cutie," she whispers with a sultry voice, probably hoping I'll compliment her stunning outfit choice.

Maybe if I actually cared for Naomi like a decent boyfriend should, then I'd be telling her how beautiful she is instead of begging the Universe to make her vanish from my field of vision. It would be so simple to break-up with her, but I suppose I would rather be miserable than face the truth and admit that I'm gay.

***

With some incessant pleading, Naomi manages to drag me out of bed and lead me downstairs to the kitchen, where my parents are nibbling on a fantastic breakfast spread brought up by room service. My parents look a little flabbergasted at her outfit choice. I wonder if she's doing it to compensate for my apparent lack of interest these last few days. Has she seen past my masquerade?

After breakfast I return upstairs for a much needed shower. Naomi hollers at me from the kitchen, "Don't take too long, Gray. I wanna see the city!"

Hearing Naomi call me Gray leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. When Maya and Tommy use my nickname, it brings a smile to my lips and ignites a warm feeling inside. Then, when Paris uses my nickname, it feels electrifying, an addictive jolt that I want to feel again. That intense personal connection I share with them is absent between Naomi and me, which is probably why it feels so foreign to hear her call me Gray. My nickname is sacred, something I hold very near and dear to my heart.

Following Naomi's orders, I hastily jump into the shower and rinse off my body, letting the scolding hot water wash the disgust off my skin and awaken my senses. No matter how much soap I lather or how harshly I scrub my skin, I still feel a layer of filth covering me. The constant lying sickens me, but I keep letting everyone around me believe I'm something I'm not. Naomi believes we're a couple, no matter how bland our relationship may be. My parents believe I'm straight and have a girlfriend. Even Paris must believe I'm straight, especially after how much time Naomi and I have spent together these last few days. Even after slipping out of the shower and drying off, the grime remains. All the lies have contaminated me inside and out, and I have no idea how much longer I can keep this act up.

Putting on a brave face, I step out of the bathroom in a tee and shorts and walk Naomi out of the suite, my parents thrilled to explore the strip while we go out shopping. I wish I could join them but instead I get dragged away by Naomi's urgent grasp, the glitzy Las Vegas boutiques calling her name.

***

Following hours of shopping, Naomi and I return to the suite to drop off dozens of bags. As soon as we arrive in her bedroom, Naomi grips the light fabric of my shirt, letting all the bags haphazardly fall to the ground. I stumble onto the soft sheets, unable to slow Naomi down. She kisses me so much that I struggle to breathe. Everything is moving too fast to comprehend. Before I know it, Naomi has stripped me down to my underwear and donned some fancy lingerie that tightly hugs her curves in thin black silk. Every second she keeps whispering in my ear, "Gray," like it is the only word she knows. Her frequent use of my nickname starts to freak me out, and I can't take this anymore. My chest quivers and my breathing shortens, and before I know it I'm prying Naomi off of me, overwhelmed by the mountain of stress assaulting my body.

"Why did you stop?" Naomi asks breathlessly, attempting to unzip the constraining fabric.

"Can you chill for a second?" I yell unexpectedly. The furious bite of my tone finally gets through to Naomi and she lets go of the zipper. Her smirk diminishes and she sinks into the soft sheets with an exasperated sigh.

"What's going on, Naomi? The lingerie? The rush? The nickname?"

"It's nothing," she scoffs in annoyance, pushing back her hair.

Even if I don't wanna be her boyfriend, I know Naomi's never hesitant to voice her opinion.

"What's going on?" I repeat, softening my tone to try and coax an answer out of her. When I turn to look at Naomi, her face has taken on a fiery red hue, burning like the New York sunset that I took dozens of pictures of from my apartment window.

"I read your letter," she mutters, so quiet I almost can't make out what she says.

"What letter?"

A perplexing look falls over my face and I turn to her in confusion. I didn't write a letter. Who even writes letters anymore?

Consumed with shame, Naomi sits up in the bed and reaches for the nightstand, rummaging through the drawer until pulling out an already opened envelope with "Gray" written on it. I curiously snatch the envelope from her hand, appalled that she stole mail addressed to me.

"I found it on the kitchen counter this morning. Your parents weren't even up yet and they'd left the mail on the dining room table," Naomi mumbles with her head down, too ashamed to meet my eyes.

Then, I realize there's only one person this letter could be from.

Unable to control myself, I yank the letter out of the ripped envelope and gulp at the sight of the neatest handwriting I've ever seen. So carefully compact, with each character delicately drawn out like a beautiful work of art. The handwriting is frilly cursive, resembling elegant calligraphy.

The letter is dated August 14, only two days ago.

Despite Naomi's lingering presence, I get lost in paragraphs of carefully built sentences, each one carrying an affectionate weight and striking a powerful cord in my heart. My mind starts reeling from the tenderness pouring out from the paper. Tears form in my eyes as I read the last paragraph over and over again, assuring myself that I'm not imagining it all.

"Because, Gray, I found myself falling in love with you. All I want to hear is that you found yourself falling in love with me too. Right now, that's what I need more than anything else."

Just as I suspected, the letter is addressed from Paris.

Paris. The boy of my dreams. The boy who made me smile the second I moved to Santa Barbara. The body who opened himself up to me, who showed me around the beach, and who let me take dozens of mesmerizing photographs of his stunning figure. The boy I've been pining after ever since I laid my eyes on him.

Everything makes sense now. The consistent use of "Gray" every other minute. The gaudy lingerie. The rushed hook-up. Naomi's been trying to gain my attention all day. She knows I have no interest in her because I'm gay.

I'm gay.

I want to scream it at the top of my lungs. I want to chant it from the glamorous lobby fountain. I want the entire world to know who I really am. I'm tired of hiding.

I can't keep living a lie. For years I've ignored who I truly am because I'm scared. Scared of the consequences of being out. Scared of what others will say or do because of who I am. Except I won't let fear rule my life any longer. I need to start living and let myself swim through all the vibrantly fantastic colors that life has to offer. There are an infinite range of opportunities out there for me grasp, so many intricate experiences that I can bathe in them. I refuse to live in black and white any longer. I want to bathe in color.

Hastily I jump up from the bed and slip my shirt and shorts back on, grasping the letter tightly in my hand, refusing to ever let it go, refusing to ever let Paris go.

"Where do you think you're going?" Naomi stutters, irritation trembling in her voice.

"I'm going to go find Paris. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have led you on like this."

Naomi leaps from the bed and follows me into my bedroom, crossing her arms while I stuff everything into my suitcase. I could care less what she thinks. I won't waste any more of my summer with someone who I don't love and who was cruel enough to hide a letter from the boy I love. I thought Naomi was better than that. Then again, I never thought I'd lead a girl on again. Not after Holly. I guess we can all be cruel at times.

"No! If you do, I'll out you!"

It's Naomi's final blow, her last attempt at keeping me here and in the closet. My heart skips a beat, and I actually take a moment to digest her warning. I wish my mind would stop spinning from her words wracking around in my brain.

"Everyone will know you're a faggot!"

Her acerbic threat hits me hard and burns at my insecurities, reigniting all the fears still lingering within me. I hold my breath, unsure what to do. Everyone will know. Will I be able to handle that?

Then I realize I don't give a shit anymore. Not about my reputation. Not about impressing the kids at my new school. Not about being the perfect son. Not about pretending to be something I'm not. I'm ready to take a chance. I'm ready to risk everything if it means I have Paris by my side.

"Fine. Out me! See if I care."

Naomi stands in my bedroom speechless, and I push past her, confidently carrying my suitcase and car keys out of the suite.

All I want is Paris.